Gendry: A Bastard's Tale
by thorney33
Summary: Gendry, having escaped Dragonstone and the clutches of Stannis, finds himself drifting in the middle of the ocean with little hope of survival. What comes next will not just save his life, but shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms forever.
1. Water

Growing up in the darkest depths of Flea Bottom, my family were often short for many things. We stole, we begged, we haggled. More often than not, we would come home empty-handed, hungry and parched. My mother would try not to worry us, throwing together whatever she could to keep us alive through the night, before heading off to the tavern for work ever night of ever miserable week. I still remember the night she brought home a salted ham that a grateful drunk had thrust upon her in a stupor. How we feasted that night. She had even slipped home a pint of ale to wash it down with, not that she would allow me more than a drop. Too young, she said. She said that a lot before she died. But still, it would be the simpler things that would bring us the rare joy that only Mother's gifts could. Even a bowl full of clean, untainted water was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

 _And now I'm surrounded by the fucking stuff as far as the eye can see, and I can't drink it._

Pulling myself up in the wretched boat that I simply refused to call home, I had a long look around and managed a groan, that came out as more of a growl from my dry, dead lips. I had been on the water for days now. At the start I had rowed furiously, trying to get as far away from Dragonstone and the madness of 'King' Stannis and his apparent lust for my blood, as I could. I had given up the oars after some time, with the mere thought of rowing further seeming like another torture method conjured up by the Mountain back in Harrenhal. Nothing had changed. Water in every direction, no sign of land or life. I had grown accustomed to thirst as a boy, but even by my standards this situation was fast becoming perilous. I considered praying, but thought the better of it. The Gods were cunts, they had never done me any favours, and were not likely to start any time soon. I was just a bastard born in the shittiest part of the shittiest city in all the Seven Kingdoms. Noble father or not, why would they give the slightest shit about me? This sacrilige almost felt good, as though I was giving one last middle finger to the world that I was about to leave behind. I closed by eyes and smiled, dreaming of those cold winter nights with Mother, many years ago.

 _ **oOoOoOoOo**_

 _Fucking water._

I knew I had fallen overboard when I felt it splash directly into my face, some going down my gullet, making me cough and nearly vomit all over the wooden deck below me.

 _Wait. Wooden deck?_

My eyes burst open to find a collection of boots pointed at my eyeline. A man, blurry through my saltwater encrusted vision, spoke firmly, with an exotic nature to his voice, as though he could be a stern leader one minute and a poet the next. There was something distinctly untrustworthy in the tone, yet oddly welcoming at the same time.

"What's your name, boy?"

 _Gendry. Gendry Baratheon, if that red-haired temptress could be trusted._

"Do not make me ask a second time. Salladhor Saan does not like to be kept waiting when there are many miles to sail and ships to plunder."

 _Pirates. Shit._ Admittedly, my experience with pirates was limited, though even I had heard the stories of their ferocious and uncomprimising natures. If they didn't see anything of value in you, overboard you would go. In calmer times, they would have been hunted down like dogs and taken before King...my father...to pay for their crimes. Ned Stark and his Northern cronies would have seen to that. Now, in times of war? The pirates were like crows, feasting on the carcass left behind in the North. _Savages._

"Your name, before I toss you overboard and feed you to the Drowned God those Ironborn cunts are always screaming about."

"My...name is...Arry."

My eyes slowly drying themselves in the beaming sun, the man came into focus. He was dark-skinned and athletically built, a smirk coming over his face. He was surprisingly well-dressed for a pirate, with a red robe-like garment hanging over his shoulder and many gold chains draped down onto his chest. A large and diamond-encrusted cutlass hung by his belt, but I tried not to focus on that. "Tell me, Arry, how a boy who looks like a pile of horse shit finds himself in a little boat in the middle of the sea? Escaping for a holiday? Wanting to join my crew?"

The tone turned from playful to deadly in the blink of an eye, the other men behind him laughing in unison. "Where are you coming from? Better yet, who are you escaping from? No food, no water...you were in a rush, no? I know the look of a man who is running from death."

The pirate paused, as if expecting an answer, but continued anyway. "You are a lucky boy. A day more, and you would have been running towards it. I very nearly made the same mistake not long ago because of a promise made to a friend. Never again, boy. Though I will make this promise to you now."

The cold steel of the cutlass was pushed against my throat suddenly as one of the other men lifted me to my knees. I was too weak to argue, to fight, to plead. In a lot of ways, I almost wished that he had slashed my throat open then and there. But it seemed the man had other plans in store for me. "I promise you your life in return for your services. The decks need scrubbing, the sails need cleaning, and my sheets need washing. You will do these tasks without complaint, else the next boy we find will be wiping your blood off the boat. Does this sound reasonable to you?"

It wasn't really a question he wanted answered, but I had no intention of doing so anyway. I had spotted an opportunity instead. "That's a fine blade, sir. Let me guess...forged in Braavos, a year or two ago I would venture. Would not have come cheap. Those diamonds on the hilt are proof enough of that."

The pirate spat with contempt. "Doesn't take a genius to recognise a fine Braavosi blade such as my own. Do you expect me to be impressed, boy?"

"Braavosi blades are amongst the finest there is, there can be no doubting that. But have you ever swung it in anger? I guarantee that embedding those rocks will have weakened the hilt to the point where the sword will shatter with a well aimed thrust at the bottom of the blade. Any fighter worth his salt will know that. He'll have it off you then he'll have you in an instant."

Salladhor Saan looked back at his crew, who all seemed to move in slow motion, as if expecting Saan to kill the boy right then and there. However, they neednt be alarmed. An amused smile crept its way over the pirate's face, and he turned back to the captive with curiosity. "How do you know this? Are you a fighter yourself?"

"Not a fighter, though I can wield a sword if I have to. I was a blacksmith in Kings Landing, one of the best there was. Let me live, and you will find value in my skills. I know you will."

Saan stood in place, muttering something about Kings Landing under his breath. With some caution, he withdrew the blade and held his hand out to the boy. "As you say, Arry. Let's see just how skilful you are."


	2. Her

Over the coming days, I became a valued member of Saan's crew. He was impressed by my skill with metal, and had me inspecting all skirtings of the ship, preventing any potential weak points and leaks. While I did not yet have the tools and equipment required to forge improved weapons, he promised to loot the next village we sailed past in order to get me what I needed. Weapons, he said, were a necessity with so much chaos and fighting in the world. He had a distant look upon his face as he said it, as if trying to forget something horrible, but I thought better of asking. I knew all too well how some things were best left forgotten.

I loved the work. Well, loved the labour as much as any sane man could. Once my mother had passed, I had very little to offer this world apart from my skill in the shop. As soon as I had come of age, I went searching for work. I apprenticed in a number of different blacksmiths around Kings Landing before Tobho Mott gave me a job learning under him. I never quite knew how I managed to snare such a highly sought after position – I was skilled, there was no denying it, but I knew there had to be more to it than that. I let it go without a second thought at the time. _No good has ever come with questions._ So I worked happily for the pirates, happy to keep alive by doing as Saan bid.

It was also when I met _her_.

I was walking past Saan's quarters when I heard a high pitched squealing. Not the type you may hear when tickling your sister, or chasing a loose pig through the streets of Flea Bottom. It was more the type you heard when wandering past Petyr Baelish's whore houses in King's Landing, wondering how the hell you would ever get so lucky as the men inside. I could scarcely believe my luck when it had almost fallen into my lap days before. Hell, I could barely get the image of her naked body out of my sight every time I closed my eyes. Though I doubted any of Littlefinger's patrons ended up with blood sucking leeches on their chest; unless they asked for it, of course.

The loud roaring of a man empting himself joined the moaning girl, and I instantly turned to return to the deck. However, Saan was too fast. He was sneaky like that, always alert to his surroundings. He'd be a nightmare to sneak up against in a fight. Stark naked, he grinned as he saw me, not even bothering to cover up his exposed manhood, drips of seed leaking down onto the floor. I looked him directly in the eye and tried to hide the impending worry that it may be my job to clean it up later.

"Are you spying on me, boy? Or just a pervert?"

I'd been called many names throughout my life, but pervert had never been one of them. If anything, I was too respectful towards women. What chance did I have if I could never bring myself to impress a lady like the one hiding behind Saan? "Spying? No, not me, your…my…"

"Boy," Saan laughed, slapping me on the back, his large cock waggling to and fro. "You worry too much. Come, drink with me."

I edged into the room nervously; I would never dare refuse Saan on his ship, when a quick trip overboard meant certain death, but there was something about the woman inside that made my blood run cold. I tried to avert eye contact, but the glimpses I caught were captivating. She had long, flowing green locks, eyebrows still her natural blonde, and a cheeky smile that seemed to belie the situation. I would have guessed she couldn't have been much more than a girl, not yet a woman in spite of the happenings of moments before. I felt a yearning to talk to her more.

"Do you want a go too?"

 _Do you want a go too?_ Perhaps the least romantic sentence a naked woman would ever utter anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. I managed to glance at her, and she glanced back. There was something about her; something so familiar, yet I could not put my finger on it. Salladhor laughed at her provocative suggestion and handed me a goblet of mead.

"She is enthusiastic, this one. We picked her up a few weeks ago," the pirate spoke in between mouthfuls of the ale. "She keeps me happy. She keeps the crew happy…and a happy crew means happy hunting."

The girl continued to stare at me as the man talked. "Do you wish to keep me happy, Arry?"

A horrifying vision popped into my head, taking away the girl for an instant. "Not like that, I don't."

The pirate laughed heartily, tossing away the empty goblet. The girl, laying down on the bed and toying with her hair mindlessly, giggled as well. _I may not be much, but at least I amuse them._ Saan's laughter subsided as a shout came from above, a distressed call from one of his trusted advisors. "Ship on the horizon! White flags, no House markings. To the East, coming up fast!"

Salladhor mumbled under his breath before staggering to his feet, tapping the girl on the arse on the way past as he thrust his undergarments on to cover his nakedness. _At last._ "See? A happy crew is a prosperous crew. Stay here, boy. I will call out for you if you are needed."

With that, he was gone. I was now completely alone with the girl. She looked at me. I looked at her. The sounds of shouting above were completely drowned out in the moment. I had to know more. But she beat me to it. "Do I frighten you, Arry?"

I had to fight back a laugh. _Her…after all the things I had witnessed…frighten me?_ "I don't frighten easy, uh, m'lady. Once you've seen the things that I have."

The girl pursed her lips, sitting up and allowing her glorious and full breasts to remain in full view. At no point did she attempt to cover them up. "Tell me about the things you have seen."

 _Where to start. The Tickler executing men, women and children for fun at Harrenhal. Yoren fighting off an entire group of Lannister soldiers to try to keep us safe. The Brotherhood Without Banners. A faceless man who saved Arya…Arya…and us from that dreadful place and Tywin Lannister. The Red Woman…her body, her hips, her breasts…the dungeons of Dragonstone._

"Have you seen these before?"

"Yes," I replied hastily, aware that I had been staring at her chest for the whole time. "But that isn't what I meant."

The girl looked away, confused. As she slowly stood and began to drape her silk gown over her shoulders, it hit me. The way that she spoke. The way that she moved. The way that she looked so comfortable dressing in silk and the fineries found in the cabin. She was nothing like Arya, nothing at all; Arya was more comfortable jousting with Needle than dressing in fine clothes. Still, there was no denying it.

"You didn't correct me when I called you m'lady."

The girl, now fully dressed, turned around and smiled oddly. "It felt nice to be called something other than whore. Even a lady likes myself needs some refinement in her life."

"Rubbish," I mocked. "You even refer to yourself as a lady. What is a highborn girl doing in a place like this, doing…the things that you are doing?"

For an instant, the girl looked frightened. But she hid it well; perhaps she was more like Arya than he I had first considered. I smiled warmly at her, trying to make her feel comfortable. It seemed to work. She walked slowly across the cabin, took my hands in hers – Gods, her skin was so soft, brushing against my calloused pair – and spoke quietly into my ear.

"You must keep this a secret, Arry. My name is Wylla Manderly. You're running away from something, I can tell. Well…so am I. You can't tell Sall…"

"Sall?"

"Salladhor. Nor anybody else on this ship. If anybody finds me, they'll make me go back…and I'll have to marry a Frey."

We sat for some time on that bed, hand in hand, the frightened girl telling me about being promised to a wretched fat boy from a reprehensible household. How she'd found her way to the docks of White Harbour and onto this very ship, on certain terms and conditions. How Salladhor and the crew had taken a liking to her. How they were drunk the first night. How she had been…

"You don't have to tell me this," I chided gently. "You don't need to do this."

"I do," she cried. "If I'm carrying a child, they won't make me marry him. They can't."

The sounds of swords clashing and men screaming broke us out of our trance. No matter what Wylla or Salladhor said, we were not safe on this ship. We had to escape.


	3. Him

For a time, I thought that my time upon Saan's ship may have proven a long and prosperous one. I did as he commanded, by and large – I reworked the steel supports of the ship, worked on improving the standard of sword wielded by those on board through materials we pillaged off those unfortunate to be in our path, and even scrubbed the decks on those quiet days where loot was scarce and Saan's mood worse for wear. The time I enjoyed the most was during the pillages – despite my insistence that I could defend myself and swing a sword in anger, Saan refused to allow me up on deck when they boarded another vessel. Was he trying to protect me? It was hard to say. I had only been on the ship barely two weeks, and he couldn't have grown that fond of me during that time. Could he?

It was during those times that I got the chance to speak to Wylla further. She was even younger than I had anticipated, which made the situation all the more disgusting in my mind. She didn't seem to give a toss, as every time Saan would return, bloodied or untouched, she would shoo me away and smile at him with those blinking, seductive eyes. Other crew members would often sneak in, late at night, and share the spoils. But never me. Not that I wanted to – the last thing I needed was attachment and permanency – but I was concerned about the girl all the same. I raised them with her one night as Saan and the others drank upstairs.

"What they do to you, these men, it does you a dishonour. You know that, don't you?" I tried to keep my voice casual as I spoke, as though it didn't affect me as much as it actually did. As usual, she saw right through the act and laughed.

"Does it bother you, those men having their way with me?"

"Who, me? No, of course not," I stammered. "But you're highborn…and so young…Saan may be a decent man, but he's still a pirate. Who knows what types of diseases those others are carrying, too. You'll likely die of something before you even get the chance to…"

She put a hand up, those delicate fingers dancing in the candlelight, and I fell silent like a simple servant boy. "You wouldn't understand, Arry. All my life I've lived in a castle, away from the reach of the world, promised to a horror of a boy and without any freedom to do what I wanted or be with who I wanted. You may not see this as a life…and yes, it isn't where I see myself being forever…but being with these men makes me feel alive. Makes me feel needed, not just a pawn in my grandfather's game. Besides…I like sex. Is that such a crime?"

She laughed again, that high pitched giggle, and poked my cheek…well, cheekily. "You're not like me, Arry. You just wouldn't understand how trapped it can make you feel."

I imagined myself in the cell, Stannis and the Red Priestess of Death hot on my tail. What had I done to deserve that fate? The Red Woman had spelled it out to me as we sailed past my home…King's Landing…and she revealed who my true father way. The one that had Ned Stark so interested, and John Arryn before him. _Damn Royal blood._ _I didn't understand?_ _Yeah, right._ "I…uh…of course I…"

The hesitation in my voice gave me away straight away.

"Gods be good," Wylla whispered, eyeing me off knowingly. "You're highborn too, aren't you?"

I had never been more grateful for a distraction from above.

" _Salladhor Saan has no need for any maps!"_

The piercing yell was followed by a howl of pain, then a distant splash of water. I couldn't help myself any longer. Pushing Wylla back down onto the bed, ignoring her yelp of surprise, I dashed up the stairs and into the cold night air. What I found was part-horrifying, part-comical. The band of crew members were scurrying in every direction, preparing the ship for sail. They fell about like a pack of jesters, as if they could not get away from Saan and his…guest…quickly enough. Saan stood looking over the side of the ship, and my eyes followed his. I recognised the man quickly floating away in the water, clutching as his submerged side as blood seeped into the water, screaming every obscenity under the sun as he drifted further and further into the darkness, away from the ship, away from safety. Saan still had his bloodied cutlass by his side, chest heaving, as if expecting an attack from any side. But even the terrifying sight of Saan could not distract me from the man kneeling to his left.

The man was thin, but not weak, one of those types who could win any arm wrestle but con the bigger ones into losing their gold time after time. He had scars all over his face and a mere tuft of red hair sprouting out of the top of his head. He was shivering, soaked through and through, as if he had just swum all the way from Essos. But it wasn't what he had that had me spooked. His mouth, hanging open as if gasping for breath, showed the true horrors that lay in this man's past.

 _He had no tongue!_

I span around, trying to hold the contents of my stomach where they belonged. Saan noticed me above deck and approached to yell at me, presumably to return to Wylla where I belonged, but I was too quick in questioning him first.

"No tongue? Who did that to him? What does it mean?"

"It means eternal _Silence_ is near, boy," Saan spat, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. "And it approaches quickly. We must flee at once."

"Where to?" I cried as Saan pushed past to bark instructions to the crew members.

"As far away as these sails will take us."

A muffled cry came from the top of the stairs, and I turned to find Wylla sitting upon the step, looking at the swaying man with his tongue-less mouth still hanging open. She remained watching as Saan walked back over, as cold as you like, and speared his cutlass through the man's neck, kicking him overboard as quickly as could be. I made my way over to Wylla, covering her eyes, and began to lead her downstairs as the ship hastily picked up pace and left the bodies in the water well behind.

"Come, m'lady. I told you this is no place for a highborn."


	4. Them

We didn't even last two days before they found us.

As Saan had told me days before, the most important thing a pirate and his ship should have on his side were large sails and a favourable wind at his back. "Strength and numbers may win you the Seven Kingdoms on land, but on the sea...my boy, if you want to survive on the sea, then you need speed and cunning. Somebody is trying to kill you, you can stay out of their reach. If somebody is trying to run from you, then you can bloody well catch them and take everything from their grasp. And nobody is faster than me. Nobody."

He was wrong about that. It was a calm day when the black sails appeared on the horizon, an alarmed crew mate running through the others to find Saan and alert him immediately. He ran onto the deck, still half naked and smelling of Wylla, and shouted in anger when he saw it. I could have sworn I almost saw a flicker of fear in his eyes; but just for a moment. He span in place, shouting instructions at the crew, who hurried to and fro trying to move the wooden vessel faster through the flat sea.

Saan himself watched for a time before silently slipping away, down the stairwell and down towards Wylla and his cabin. I found myself following, unsure how to help on the deck itself, my sea legs wobbling through a mixture of fear and sudden movement. But what I found in the cabin shocked me, even with the chaos taking place inside. Wylla, mainly hidden under the covers of the bed, was watching as Saan threw whatever he could carry into a large sack - wine, cheeses, meats, clothes - and began to prise open the window on the outside of the cabin. Outside the opening, behind Saan, I could see what he was planning; the dinghy they had found me in was tied up, oars at the sides. The bastard was leaving us.

"What are you doing?"

Saan turned, frowning. Through the opening, I could see the black sails of the enemy ship approaching quickly. Far too quickly for my liking. "Arry. I am a pirate, not a warrior. A brave man fights. A smart man lives. Which of the two would you prefer?"

"Living, obviously," I admitted. "But your crew, the men? Wylla? You can't just abandon us like that!"

I half-expected Saan to chuckle in characteristic fashion, but his eyes were deadly serious as he spoke. "The men can be replaced. The ship can be replaced, over time. The only thing that can't be replaced is my own life. These men...they may fight, they may die...but they won't be written in the history books; nobody will weep for them in fifty years. But me...I am a Saan. For over three hundred years, we have pillaged and smuggled our way into infamy. I am the Prince of the Narrow Sea. You? I like you. But you are nothing to me. The girl? She is beautiful, and a beauty to lay with, but she is nothing to me either. Do you understand?"

Without thinking, I found myself walking to stand between the man, whom I had foolishly trusted and considered my friend, and the window. He looked at me, straining under the weight of the bag, and hissed. "Get out of my way."

"She's not nothing," I declared boldy. "She is Wylla of House Manderly. I am Gendry Baratheon, bastard son of the late King Robert, King of the Andals and the First Men. Take us with you, and you will not regret it."

I stole a glance at Wylla, and she looked alarmed in spite of the circumstances. The poor girl looked terrified; I suppose she had no real knowledge of the ship nearing us, and the panic upstairs had yet to reach her fully. Saan stared at us both, as if examining our claims, before dropping the sack and laughing heartily to himself. "Her...a highborn child? And you...trying to claim the Iron Throne like that madman Stannis, heh? I should have told you, I am Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, standing on tiny little stilts in my boots and hiding behind the mask of a much more handsome soul. Arry. You must take me for some kind of fool."

"But I'm..."

Saan lashed out with his fist and struck me in the side of the head. I dropped immediately, not expecting the blow. I heard Wylla shriek, and I felt an instant pang of shame that I had gone down without a fight. He said he was not a warrior, but he sure hit like one. With my world spinning around me, I heard him pick up the sack, make his way stealthily through the window, and heard the last words Salladhor Saan would ever speak to me.

"Goodbye, my friends. Arry - tell him about your skills. He may find you useful enough to keep alive."

And with that, he was gone, and my world slowly faded to black.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

By the time I came to, it was too late. Wylla was leaning over me, dabbing my forehead with a cloth, frowning at the blood on the wet rag. She gave a sad smile as I tried to sit up, and she put a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. "Slow down. You took quite the hit, you know."

I let out a weak groan, allowing my head to fall back down. I glanced out the window and could not see any sign of the black-sailed ship. I allowed myself to breathe easier, but only for a second. "Wylla...the ship. Did we lose them?"

I looked at her face and instantly wish that I hadn't. The frightened expression returned to her face, and she glanced out of the left corner of her eyes towards the cabin door. I followed her gaze and gasped - a man was standing there, hand close to a dagger in its sheath on his belt, his expression plain and mouth firmly closed. He was an intimidating figure - tall, broad-chested with various tattoos covering his body. His head was as bald as the days sea was calm. He wore rings of gold on each hand - enough to make Saan himself proud - yet he did not appear proud of his garments or jewels. He merely watched us, silently, shooting daggers through his dead eyes.

"What does he want?"

"I don't know," the girl trembled. "He hasn't spoken a word since he came down. He...he just stares at me. He allowed me to tend to you, but he won't let me leave the cabin."

I slowly tried to raise myself to my meet and the man tensed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon. Wylla pushed me down again, her tone stronger this time. "Don't be a damn hero, Arry. Or should I say Gendry?"

She leaned in, trying to ignore our terrifying captor, and whispered in my ear. "I knew you were highborn too. But the King's bastard? Is it true?"

The girl looked so desperate, as if looking for any distraction from our perilous situation; besides, it seemed a waste to die without her knowing my true self, so I looked at her and nodded slowly. She smiled mysteriously, as if my lineage meant that we now shared some secret that those who had boarded us would never understand, even if they were about to take it all away from us. It was the smallest victory we could hope for. Just as a glimmer of hope had flickered between us, it was taken away in an instant.

"Cragorn," a stern voice shouted from the deck above. "Bring them to me."


	5. Price

Our mute captor opened the cabin door behind him and motioned for us to follow. Despite still reeling from the blow that Saan had dealt me before fleeing, I pulled myself to my feet and stood in between the bald-headed brute and Wylla. Damned if I was going to allow whoever was waiting for us upstairs to get to her, and doing the things that men such as these liked to do, without going through me first. As we shuffled past, I could hear him inhale and lean in towards her green hair. I fought back the strong impulse to turn around and strike him fair in his rotten nose. And, as I was about to discover, it was just as well I did.

I had walked up that stairway dozens of time, but never before had I had to squelch through a thick layer of blood that was trickling down from the deck above. I hear Wylla whimper, and I threw my hand back to grab hers, but Cragorn slapped it out of the way and shoved me forwards. I had to blink furiously as the sun smacked me straight in the face, but the focus slowly returning didn't help to ease my fears. A pile of dead bodies, my crewmates, lay to the left, a collection of slit throats, chest wounds with guts hanging out and the eyes, those damn eyes, staring forever into the horizon, still wishing for a way to escape. _Damn you, Saan_.

The visitors were just as terrifying as what they had done to their victims. They were dressed just as I'd always imagined pirates would be - just like Saan's men had been, really - but it wasn't their clothes or their swords that concerned me most. The damn scars. A few of them looked towards us, and I had to look away. The deep scars around their mouths, around their throats; they were some of the toughest looking bastards I had ever set eyes upon, and Gods be good, whoever did that to them must have been terrifying beyond all comprehension. And I was right.

"What the fuck is this?"

Cragorn grabbed me roughly and spun me around, and for the first time I noticed the black-sailed ship bobbing up and down next to the ship. It truly was an amazing vessel; a deep, dark red that reminded me of the blood dripping downstairs. At the front of the ship was a bust of a woman, entirely in black, with a body to die for but a face that could best be described as disfigured. From what I could see, she had no mouth. The man standing in front of me was tall, powerful and lean with an eye-patch. He smacked his pale blue lips together in dissatisfaction as he glared at his bald crewmate, who cowered behind us in fear.

"I asked you to bring me the captain, you fool - not some stupid kid and his dumb slut."

I waited for Cragorn to reply, but none came. I looked around and, once again, immediately wished I hadn't. His mouth hung open, attempting a response that would never come, for the man had no tongue. The dark hollow hung open for a time before closing slowly, with the giant staring down at the deck, fearful of his master, who inched towards me. I tried to avert his gaze, but it proved impossible; his one remaining eye was crystal blue, piercing, as though he was looking right through me. "Where is the captain?"

"Answer me, or you'll lose more than your life. Or she will."

The man nodded and two crew members appeared, drawing their knives and holding them to Wylla's throat. _What the girl would give to be back in her castle under her Grandfather's control_. _Hell, how I'd kill to be back in Flea Bottom. Anywhere but here._

"The captain abandoned ship when you started to come up on the horizon," I spoke. "He panicked. Your reputation preceeds you, apparently."

A half-smirk came over the man's face. "As it should. Do you know who I am, boy?"

 _Look at that smirk. Play with him. You know what he wants._ "Not off the top of my head, sir...but I'm just a simple lowborn. If I had to guess, I'd have to say you're Ironborn. Everybody knows that there is nobody in the Seven Kingdoms more dangerous on the water than those from the Iron Islands."

The smirk grew. _Thank the Gods._ "You are a perceptive boy. I am none other than Euron Greyjoy. Son of the Sea Wind. The true heir to the Iron Islands. Captain of the most feared ship there has been and will ever be - the _Silence_."

"Impressive," I nodded, trying to massage the ego further. "I can imagine that..."

Without warning, Euron turned his back and waved dismissively. "Take the girl. She'll be good for a few nights worth, then she can spend the rest of eternity fucking the Drowned God until I join him and reclaim her."

I moved to intervene, but I felt the strong grip of Cragorn on me in an instant. A few of the silent crewmembers grabbed Wylla, who started to scream as they carried her off towards the other ship. There would nothing I could do to help her. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Euron casually remarked. "Slit his throat and toss him overboard."

I heard the metallic sliding of a blade out of its sheath, and my mortality suddenly became a very limited prospect. I panicked, yelling out in fear and anger. "Why bother telling me who you are if you're just going to kill me?"

"So you can tell the Gods who sent you to them," Euron goaded, back still turned. "You have nothing of value to offer me, lad. You're not a pirate, clearly. I'm looking for something. It's not here. We move on and look elsewhere. You don't."

"At least tell me what it is," I shrieked, wishing against all wishes that Wylla was out of ears reach and couldn't hear how high-pitched my responses were now coming. "Maybe I can help."

"I highly doubt it. Unless you can tell me where I can find the remaining pieces of _Dragonbinder_."

 _Dragonbinder?_ I stopped, thinking hard. I had heard of the name somewhere before! As I felt the cold steel press against my throat, I had to take the chance. "A dragon horn! You're looking for a dragon horn!"

This captured the mans attention straight away, and he span around to face me, clearly trying to hide the excitement on his face. He walked up and stood so close I found almost feel his stubble against my own cheeks. "What do you know about dragon horns?

"I worked for a prominent blacksmith in Kings Landing, sir. One of the best. He often told stories of the dragon horns of Old Valyria, how the dragonlords would sound them to control the dragons, ride upon their backs. Then the Doom happened, and they were never seen since. Neither were dragons, mind."

"Dragons fly again," Euron said, staring out pensively into the empty horizon. "Across the Narrow Sea. A man with a dragonhorn...his power would be...immense."

He turned back to me, an eyebrow raised. "When I first spoke about the return of dragons, many laughed at me. Their last laugh, perhaps, but they laughed nonetheless. Then word started to spread, all the way from Essos. A fucking Targaryen, still alive, with three young dragons, trying to claim Essos on her way to the Iron Throne. People started believing, I tell you, very quickly. Can you imagine? What a weapon - those dragons - the most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms."

I saw a chance, and I took it. It could well be the last roll of the dice. "You said you were looking for the remainding pieces of Dragonbinder...does that mean that you have already found some part of it?"

A telling smile came over his face as he turned back to me once more. The knife had still not left my throat, but slowly my plan was coming to fruition. "That is not for you to know, whether you are about to die or not."

"Not would be best - for both of us," I declared. "Tobho Mott, my mentor, was a keen admirer of the history of Valyrian steel and the construction of the dragon horns. He showed me plans from ancient Valyrian books and plans, on how the horns were made and used correctly."

 _A lie. Surely he must know this is a lie._

If he suspected, intrigue fooled him into ignoring it. "Are you telling me that you know how Dragonbinder can be fixed and whole again?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded as confidently as possible. "Yes, sir. If you get find me all of the pieces, then I swear by my life and the life of the girl on that boat, that I will forge it back together for you...and the dragons, the ultimate weapon...it can all be yours."

A few crewmates walked towards Euron, distrusting looks upon their scarred faces, but Euron waved them away and stared at me again with that damn blue eye. He slowly smiled, grabbing a knife and twiddling it around in his hand. "Very well. You come with us...alive, for now. You help us find those pieces and put them together, and I promise you not only your life, but also your weight in gold when I've taken over the whole damn Seven Kingdoms."

I waited for the cheering - it certainly seemed like a moment a crew would be thrown into a frenzy - but they merely stood there, tongueless mouths turned into eerie grins at the sight of their happy master. He held up the knife, motioned towards those behind him, and approached me with a dark shadow passing over his face. "But, if you're going to be a member of our crew, there is a price that must be paid, boy..."


	6. Mouthpiece

If I had been afraid of finding myself of Saan's ship initially, then the _Silence_ was absolutely fucking terrifying. The deck was stained red, but the few sections where it seemed the varnish had failed to cover…well, they were stained red anyway. The stench of death hung over her, all the way from the broad black sails down below deck, where they had taken Wylla. I had not seen her, nor heard from her, since we had boarded mere hours before. All I could do was pray that she was alive; unharmed seemed like an overly optimistic stretch based on the condition of the crew. They were all lean and strong, natural fighting machines, but were all mute and had heavy bags under the eyes from the strain of non-stop work and action around the ship. Occasionally, one would see fit to meet my line of sight and open their dark mouths, revealing the tongue-less holes that would surely haunt my dreams for the remainder of my days.

Euron seemingly did not see the need to throw me in chains; he saw me as no threat, and even if I wanted to leave, where could I go? I did, however, have the unfortunate shadow of Cragorn following me wherever I went. His steel cold eyes blazed into the back of my head constantly, and it took all of my nerve to avoid turning around to meet his gaze. I merely wandered aimlessly, waiting to be called to Euron, waiting to find out what the future held for me.

At around sundown that first day, I was called down below deck to see him.

The ship was much larger than Saan's, and it showed below. Whereas only Saan had the privilege of his own personal cabin, there were multiple doors down below. Cragorn shoved me towards the one at the back, a door as black as the ship's sails, and I knocked on it subserviently. A dark growl came from inside. "If that's you, Cragorn, what point is there knocking if you can't speak through the fucking door? Open the damn thing and enter."

Cragorn nodded towards me and then left. I slowly opened the door and stepped in. The cabin was nothing like Saan's. Whereas Salladhor had adorned his area with fine silks and treasures from all around the world, the plain and drab setting here seemed quite dull in comparison. Maps and pieces of paper were scattered all around, with many drawings of various objects and artefacts covering the walls. The large desk, which Euron sat behind, have him a great sense of importance in spite of the dishevelled state of affairs. The other difference, much to my relief…or concern, I wasn't yet sure which, was that Wylla was nowhere to be seen. It was just me, all alone, in the cabin with one of the most dangerous men in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Sit."

There was no other chair apart from the one that Euron himself was perched on, but I obliged, sitting down on the floor and looking up at my new captain. "How are you enjoying the _Silence_ so far? Your new crew members?"

I had no idea how to reply. Was he a man who appreciated a sense of humour, or would be looking for more massaging for his ego? In the end, I said nothing. He smiled. "I haven't taken your tongue yet, have I, lad?"

He chuckled again, as if there was some big joke that I was not yet aware of. He pulled out a large jug filled with a viscous, blue liquid and poured it into two goblets sitting atop the desk. He shoved one across to me roughly, with some of it spilling onto the desk. It had a sour smell and did not appeal to me in the very least, but I picked the glass up anyway, bringing it to my lips. The taste was disgusting, like a thickened wine flavoured with horse shit and sour berries, and I coughed, narrowly avoiding spraying Euron with blue, thick vomit. He laughed again, taking a long swig from his own and smacking his blue lips together with satisfaction.

"Shade of the evening is an acquired taste," the man chuckled. "Some are never man enough to adapt to the taste, however. Now, speak to me. If I was going to take your tongue, I would have taken it already. These miserable cunts are loyal, but even I desire some conversation now and then. And you intrigue me, young man. You and that green-haired girl that you came along with."

 _Wylla._ "The girl – Wylla. Where is she?"

"Wylla, eh?" Euron spat dismissively. "She is none of your concern anymore. She belongs to me. As do you. As does this."

The man reached below the table and pulled out a small, shiny object. He rolled it across the table towards me and I grabbed it. I almost dropped it straight away – it was hot to the touch. I turned it over in my hands. It was small, just a fragment of a larger object, and it was covered in an ornate pattern that seemed to be a part of a larger carving. It was ridiculously smooth, as though somebody had worked and fashioned it for weeks and weeks. While only a piece, I could instantly tell it was professionally made, probably castle-forged. Whatever it was, however, I didn't have a clue.

"What is it?"

The one blue eye narrowed in annoyance and burned into my skull. _And I thought Cragorn's stares were intimidating_. "I thought you would have recognised it. I located this object in Valyria on a recent expedition. Alongside it was a note, which I had translated in tavern in Essos. They were instructions."

I clicked, looking at the object now and finally noticing the hollow nature of the object. "This is the mouthpiece for a dragon horn. What did the instructions say, how to use the horn?"

"No," Euron said bitterly. "I'm no fool, I know how to blow a bloody horn and I will figure out myself how to lead three dragons to kill everybody who has wronged me. No…the instructions explained how the horn itself was a dangerous, powerful object that had to be taken apart, with the different sections to be divided between four powerful houses in order to avoid the horn falling into the wrong hands."

"But if they wanted the dragon horn out of the wrong hands," I surmised. "Why not just destroy it and throw the pieces into the ocean, never to be found again?"

"You don't understand how power works, do you? People feared the dragon horns – whether it was the earliest Targaryens who used them to control their dragons, we will probably never know. But somebody had this horn until the very day that the King Slayer drove his sword through the Mad King's back and the Targaryens fell out of power. They had no need for the horn anymore, yet feared that the horn could be tracked down and destroyed by King Robert and his followers. By splitting up the sections and dividing it between allied Houses, the Targaryen sympathisers ensured that it would be there, somewhere, waiting for the day that dragons rose again to be controlled. And that day has come, my friend. Only this time it won't be them controlling the dragons. It shall be me."

"But how will you know where to look?" I asked, genuinely curious now. "It'll be like looking for a needle in the haystack."

Euron reclined slightly, eyeing me off. "After 'King' Robert took control, he moved to squash any House that remained loyal to the Targaryens. I believe that the remaining pieces of the horn will be with the few that escaped death…or worse. There are many that pledged fealty to the Baratheons and those Lannister cunts, but who still had their allegiances elsewhere. I had reason to believe that there was a ship in the area carrying Malcolm Branfield, a member of House Forrester. The House was very nearly wiped out by King Robert, and I suspected what is left may well be sheltering part of the horn. But I mistakenly attacked your ship. Do accept my sincere apologies."

Euron, not at all sorry, swigged more of his vile blue swill and continued. "I grow tired of this cat and mouse game. Fortunately for us, members of your crew had more information than we had expected before we gut them from end to end. They told of a man who they often deal with, stolen antiquities and priceless objects that he pays a premium price for. One of the few remaining Targaryen loyalists, they say, who organised a marriage between the Dragon's mother and some savage Dothraki cunt. A man named **Illyrio Mopatis**."

Never having heard the man myself, and being surprised at the wealth of information afforded by the crew, I couldn't help but enquire, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Euron stated. "When we find this man, when we tear down his walls and storm in, killing every last person we find, when we find the pieces of the horn that I have no doubt he is hiding…then, you will put the horn back together, and I shall claim the Seven Kingdoms for myself. Is that clear?"

I gulped, a wave of fear washing over me. _What the hell have you gotten yourself in for? What do you think he'll do when he discovers that you haven't the foggiest idea how to put the horn back together?_ "Very clear, sir."


	7. Mopatis

"I see them."

Illyrio Mopatis lowered the looking glass from his eyes and handed it back to Pesky Roach, the captain of his Unsullied guard, who silently placed it in his pocket. While many of his Unsullied had names unbecoming of their natures, like the meticulous Filthy Larva and the eminently valuable Worthless Slug, Pesky Roach had certainly earned his name through his unabated vigilance in spotting anybody approaching the estate from the Narrow Sea. A vast majority of the time, they happened to be merchant ships either coming to bargain with Mopatis or merely blown off course by unexpected storms. Regardless, Pesky Roach would come to him time after time, concerned for his master's safety. Usually this irritated him, as he was often in important councils, or even worse, when he was laying with one of his many concubines. However, he was glad for the attention to detail this time, as he recognised the black sails and dark red decks without any need for a second glance.

 _Gods be good. What could Euron Greyjoy possibly want from me?_

"Do you want us to sail out to meet them, Master Illyrio? No men from Westeros can defeat my Unsullied in direct combat."

"No normal men, perhaps," Illyrio pondered aloud, maintaining his gaze over the stretch of water in between his sanctuary and the threatening vessel. "But many tales have made their way to my ears about this man. They say he cuts out the tongues of any man brave enough to volunteer for a position on the crew. Almost certainly nonsense, perhaps. But his ability on the water can not be ignored; most of the pirates rely on a full armada of ships, the ancient Borrells or the Saans, for example. But Euron Greyjoy manages to put fear into the heart of every merchant who sails between Essos and Westeros with just the _Silence_ alone, and the mute crew at his disposal. Admirable, if not despicable, and most certainly harmful to my trade."

"But why are they here?"

Pesky Roach's use of the Common Tongue was surprisingly good for an Unsullied, and his time spent with Illyrio had given him a hybrid accent that made him unique among his people. He, unlike most Unsullied, seemed to enjoy this distinction. It was this surprising quality that had made him stand out to Mopatis as the ideal leader of his squadron. He rubbed his long beard thoughtfully, glad that he had made the right decision. "For nothing good, that much I can say with confidence, my dear Roach. But we have nothing to fear from them whilst they remain on their ship. Let them scan the horizon. Let them see the Unsullied guarding every possible entrance to this estate. Let them sail away with their tails between their legs."

The Magister turned his back on the ship and left the room, two Unsullied passing by him to watch the black-sailed ship which hovered ominously in the distance. He did not seem to give it a second thought, but Pesky Roach was not quite so convinced. After one last look back at the enemy, he put his head down and followed his master through the winding halls of the large estate.

 **oOoOo**

"They can see us."

"No shit."

Euron's response was as short as I had expected. What was unexpected was my very being here, up on deck, staring into the distance at the fine palace that lay before us. Sitting atop a large rock on the side of a cliff, it was unlike any place that I had seen before. Whilst King's Landing was larger, the largest place imaginable, there was a grandeur about Illyrio Mopatis' residence that was lacking in the shit-stained and poverty-stricken outskirts of the Capital.

"But if he can see you coming..."

"A man like Illyrio Mopatis has eyes and ears all over the Seven Kingdoms, you young fool. Nobody can get within thirty leagues of this place without him knowing. Trying to hide away and sneak in at night was never going to work."

This was making little sense to me. "Are we storming the palace? Is that the plan?"

Euron shook his head. Initially, I had taken him for a bit of a hot head, a man who went into battle without a second thought, thinking that nothing was beyond him. While I had spent nearly the whole journey alone, below deck, locked away in my own dank cabin, I had failed to get a different perspective on the man. He was certainly offering it now. His one healthy eye narrowed as he pointed towards two tiny soldiers standing, watching, spears gleaming in the limited sunlight poking through the clouds. "He's guarded by a horde of Unsullied soldiers. They have the advantage of locked doors and upper ground, should we attempt to attack them from the cliff-face."

"Unsullied?" It was a term that I had never been before. Certainly, through my travels, I hadn't met a single soul that I would have considered 'unsullied'. Even Hot Pie, the fat bastard who couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to, had tormented Arya from the beginning. Arya herself was hotheaded and prone to getting herself into trouble. The Brotherhood were like family, until they handed me over to the Red Woman for a small fee. _Bastards_. The world was full of cunts, something that I was quickly learning.

"You think I'm the Devil for cutting out their tongues," Euron mused. "You should see what they do to these miserable bastards. A bunch of fucking Theons, if the rumours are to be true about my beloved nephew."

He gave a hearty laugh, before turning to Cragorn, who I could sense was watching me from not far behind. He spoke the words that I had been waiting for, and dreading, for the days since I had been taken by the crew. "Bring the girl."

I could hear the lumering oaf take leave and shortly return with the pitter patter of soft footsteps behind him. I could barely bring myself to look. I'm glad I did. My mouth dropped open at the sight of her - untouched, as far as I could tell, and in relatively high spirits given the situation. She was dressed in amazing burgandy flowing robes, delicate slippers on either feet, with two large pins holding her hair up in a fashion that I had never seen before; Bravossi, or the like, I suspected. She stole a glance at me and smiled before returning her stare to Euron, who looked delighted on the surface. Below that? You never could quite tell.

"My dear Wylla. You look like a million gold dragons. Have they treated you well?

"Yes," Wylla replied. "I...I was not expecting such generosity and fine treatment, Euron."

"Good, good," Euron spoke each word carefully, as if planning out his entire day. "But now the time has come for you to repay my kindness. You too, boy."

He pointed back towards the palace, where the glints off the Unsullied spears still appeared in the distance. "You two will come with me to speak to Illyrio...be my envoy, if you will. We can't get through his Unsullied without losing the greater part of my men. I hope that eventuation can be avoided."

"Why us?" I found myself saying. "He'll kill you as soon as you set foot there, and we won't be any help. Surely Cragorn, or..."

"He's a merchant above all else," Euron declared. "He'll see value in what I have to offer him today. If he chooses not to, then violence may become the answer. But for my plan to work, he must not feel threatened. Do you believe a pompous ass who lives in this palace will welcome men without tongues with open arms? Look around. They are fine soldiers, but nothing else. Some tasks require finesse, a sneaky mind. And nobody has more finesse than I."

I looked up at the palace, alarm bells ringing in my head. _What I have to offer him?_ The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. I could feel Wylla's heart beating just as fast as mine as Euron began barking orders at his men to prepare a dinghy. People were about to die, there was no doubt about that. _I just hope that it isn't us._

 **oOoOo**

 _Fucking oars._

I gave an exhausted groan as the dinghy finally found its way up onto the rocky shore near the base of the palace. As far as I was concerned, I never wanted to touch a bloody oar ever again, as long as I would ever live. Not that it would necessarily be a long time. Euron stepped out of the dinghy, holding a hand out for Wylla. I suspected that this gesture was more for the sake of our guests, and not for the girl herself. A dozen Unsullied, all basically identical with their tanned skin and solemn faces, held out spears towards us. Euron ignored this, laughing whistfully, winking at the man in the middle, who appeared to be the leader. _I'll get the boat, shall I?_ I dragged it up onto the shore as Euron approached the soldier.

"This is quite the welcome party, isn't it? I am..."

"We know who you are, Euron Greyjoy. Leave."

Euron couldn't help but give a smug smile at this 'revelation'. "You will notice, my cock-less friend, that I was kind enough to leave my men aboard the _Silence_ , which has made no attempt to storm the palace. I am here to arrange a business proposition with your master...not to fight."

A few of the Unsullied looked at Wylla, but more with a curiosity than a longing. I suppose what Euron said about them was true. Euron continued, strutting around as if he owned the place, the spear tips following him from side to side. He was quite captivating, in a way. He would have made a wonderful politician. "Take me to Illyrio...come with me, if you wish. I promise you, he will be more angry with you for losing such a lucrative offer than if you allow me a few moments of his precious time. Otherwise...kill me now, if you must. See how he reacts to a brash move such as that."

Euron put his hands over his head and walked forward, with the leader's spear now pushes firmly into his chest. I could see it piercing his clothes, and a slight trickle of blood began to run down through his garments and onto the ground. He smiled, apparently ignoring the pain. The Unsullied raised his spear, nodding his head at Euron, apparently convinced. "Pesky Roach sees no honour in killing a man like this. You are just an unarmed man...a boy...and a girl. I have twelve men at my disposal."

"Men...well, not really men, are they?" Euron laughed. "But yes, very perceptive, Roach. Take me to him, and I shall make him the richest man in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Surely he has spoken about my infamy on the seas? What a beautiful partnership it shall be."

Pesky Roach stared at Euron, weighing the sentence up in his mind. _Had Euron judged Mopatis correctly?_ Apparently, he had. The Unsullied man nodded and turned, leaving the spears of his men on Euron as he began to walk up the steps. "Come."

 **oOoOo**

The palace was like nothing I had seen before. Everywhere, fine silks adorned the walls and marble statues dotted the scene with various fat men and wealthy-looking women forever enshrined with smug smiles on their well-fed faces. Fountains scattered the courtyards and men and women, all in fine robes, walked to and fro on their various businesses, trying to avoid eye contact with both the Unsullied troops behind us and the one steely eye of Euron, looking forward. I stayed behind him, walking next to Wylla, who appeared more at ease in the surroundings than myself. She gave me an encouraging smile and squeezed my hand, which made my heart skip a beat. I still did not fully understand his reasoning for bringing her, not to mention myself, but I was wise enough not to question his decisons. Soon enough, we were entering the large palace itself, and Pesky Roach led us through the halls, up the stairs, to the top-most part of the palace. The man knocked on the door and it slowly opened, revealing a pudgy man with a long grey beard and red cheeks.

The man looked at Euron, his eyepatch and fearsome look. A flash of horror dawned on Illyrio's face as he realised Roach's mistake. "You fool, what have you..."

Euron moved like a viper, his hand lashing upwards to swipe the large pins from Wylla's hair, before spinning in turn to impale each metallic pin into each side of Pesky Roach's neck. Blood shot out from either side and the man fell instantly, Euron tearing the pins out sadistically, blood flooding down the flight of stairs. Before the Unsullied behind had a chance to react, Euron grabbed Pesky Roach's spear in mid-air and lashed out twice, slicing through the throats of the two Unsullied, who were preparing to drive their own spears through Wylla and myself. "Get in!"

We didn't have to be told twice. Jumping up the last few stairs, we threw ourselves past Mopatis into the room, out of reach of the Unsullied. Euron lashed out a few more times, and we could hear the pained cries of the fallen, before athletically jumping backwards into the room, pushing Mopatis to the ground, and slamming the door shut. He locked the door with a click and jammed the spear into the bottom, holding off the Unsullied as they began to throw themselves at the door. The fine craftsmanship of the palace betrayed Illyrio, as the door held even against the weight of his protectors. Euron held the bloodied pins up to his eyes and snarled. "Tell your 'men' to retreat back to whence they came, else I will drive these right into your brain right now and be done with it."

The rich man whimpered and his voice cried out much like a poor beggar trying to avoid starvation in the streets. "Fall back! Fall back! He has me!"

To their credit, the Unsullied did not have to be ordered twice. The sound of retreating footsteps was soon replaced by the eerie sound of silence. We were all alone with Illyrio Mopatis, as high as high could be, the world at our feet. Euron rubbed the bloody point of the pin over Mopatis' face, who closed his eyes, as the pirate chuckled sadistically. "Now...let's discuss the dragon horn, shall we?"


	8. Pinned

" _The dragon horn?"_

Mopatis looked at Euron directly in his piercing blue eye, a look of bewilderment on his bearded face. Euron, Unsullied blood dripping down his own form, stood over the portly Magister and remained as menacing as ever. "Do not pretend to know nothing of what I speak. I found the mouthpiece in Valyria, with the remaining pieces distributed amongst the Targaryen supporters of the time. Is it not true that you protected the dragon bitch and her foolish brother before sending them both off with a Dothraki horde?"

I stole a glance at Wylla, who was huddled at the back of the room, well out of Euron's reach. One look at her was all that I needed to realise the purpose that we were serving in the estate. _He knows we look weak, unthreatening. He gambled on Wylla and I lowering the guard of the Unsullied, even if just for a moment. He played the captain for a fool._ Mopatis, holding back the shakes, was doing his best to remain stoic in the face of such as adversary. He was clearly a man who had his dignity. He nodded slowly, confirming the questioned fact. "Yes, Greyjoy. I worked for many years to protect Daenerys and Viserys from the reaches of the Capital. I even brokered a deal for the young girl to be wed to Khal Drogo. It seemed to be in my best interests, at the time. Surely a man of your…occupation…can see the sense in that."

Euron laughed, but there was no humour in his tone this time. _Had Mopatis hit a nerve?_ "My occupation? You misread me, sir. I am more than a mere pirate. With the dragon horn in my possession, I shall have the power to take back the Iron Islands…then, with the Iron Fleet at my back, I shall take Kings Landing and the whole Seven Kingdoms. Every cunt from Slavers Bay to the Wall and beyond shall know me and fear me. Revile me and admire me."

"Assuming you can get your hands on a mystical object, of course."

The cold eye turned on the Magister again. "About as mystical as my huge cock, and you can ask half the whores in Essos about that. Tell me – is the horn here, or where shall I sail the _Silence_ next? Tell me now, unless you wish to lose your tongue as well…"

Euron scraped the pin along the ground, sharpening the blade and licking his blue lips with glee. "…or would you prefer I cut you like your dear old friend _the Spider_?"

Mopatis looked up at the name, whoever the hell it was, and his eyes widened in spite of him. "How could you possibly know about Varys? Our meetings were…"

"I know all about you, Illyrio Mopatis. Whispers carry faster over the sea; no endless valleys to dull the echoes, no castles for the whispers to be cut off at the throat. I have heard many stories about your influence around Westeros. The type of influence that I could use once I am in power. But I only want honest friends, you see. How could I ever possibly trust a man who plotted to overthrow a past King? How could I possibly let him live?"

Mopatis struggled to answer, but even for the smooth talking and experienced negotiator, the words failed him. _Euron is winning._ "Tell me the truth, the entire truth, else you shall lose more than your wrinkled balls. Do you or do you not support the Targaryens to this very day?"

The shaky reply came, the man's resolve failing him. "I…I…well. Perhaps I was, once…but no longer. Viserys is dead, killed by the late Khal Drogo. My support for the Targaryen cause ended when his life did."

"Liar."

Euron lashed forward with one of the pins, impaling it straight through Mopatis' left hand, pinning it to the ground. Euron's strength and timing was immense. The man screamed, Wylla covering her ears with her hands, and I could once again hear the sound of the Unsullied marching outside the precariously shunted door. "Piss off, you cockless wonders. He's not dead yet!"

The footsteps stopped, though in my head I could picture the countless Unsullied taking up positions in the stairway, our one escape, ready to put a thousand holes in each of us as soon as that door was opened. I shook my head, trying to focus on the happenings inside the death trap of a room. Mopatis whimpered, clutching weakly at the lodged pin, small trickles of blood seeping down onto the floor. "I will not ask again, Mopatis. You do support the Targaryens, yes?"

"You fool," Illyrio whelped, before his anger at Euron was quickly redirected at an unexpected target. "Look around my estate! Between my Unsullied forces, my gardeners, my cooks and cupbearers, those working in my forgery for the markets…I have thousands of slaves under my command. Have you not heard the whispers about the supposed Dragon Queen in the 'free' city of Mereen? The title which she has bestowed upon herself as she has swept through Slavers Bay? _The Breaker of Chains_. She seeks to end slavery, not just in the Bay, but everywhere. Tell me…why would I support such nonsense? My whole trade and wealth is based on the work of slaves. I won't have it!"

Euron sat down next to the man, looking genuinely thoughtful – though you never really could tell what he was thinking. "I had heard such rumours. But to have them confirmed…it seems to me, sir, that we both have reason to want this girl out of power. Assist me in gaining control of Dragonbinder, and I shall allow you to live. I shall allow your business to continue. I shall ensure you never have to lift another hand for the remaining days of your life, once I have come into power."

Euron grabbed the pin and tore it out of Mopatis' hand, the man giving a yelp as a small spurt of blood shot out from the top of the wound and comically hit him in the face. "Tell me, for I will not ask again – where are the remaining pieces of the dragon horn?"

Mopatis moaned and tried to lift himself to his feet. Without thinking, or merely just showing her compassionate nature, Wylla strode forward and helped the man up. He did not thank her, nor did Euron, who glanced at the gesture contemptuously. The girl shuddered and returned to my side, staring at the bloodied floor. Nonetheless, the man ignored the throbbing pain in his hand and looked at Euron in the eye once more, as if nothing had happened between them. "When I sold off Daenerys, I encouraged Viserys to remain here with me while his sister rode off with the horde. The hard-headed fool refused, and it got him killed, as I well suspected that spending time with the Dothraki may have done for a…man…like that. However, before all that, at the wedding, I presented the girl with three petrified dragons eggs, turned to stone by the time, no longer viable. The last dragons were long dead, as everyone knew. I had no idea that the girl would find a way to produce three healthy dragons from those eggs, and that they would once again fly around the skies of Essos."

"When I heard of the dragons' birth, I was overjoyed. A strong leader with three dragons at her back could enforce real change in the Kingdoms. Unfortunately, the girl seems more compassionate than her brother. And compassion is weakness, as you well know. Sadly, she doesn't…and I fear that her soft heart and foolish young mind can do more damage than good with that sort of power behind her. Power that she is yet to understand."

I could tell that Euron was becoming impatient, his hands closing and opening with gathering pace, and it was as if Mopatis could sense this as he quickly got to the point. "As insurance, I have been acquiring the individual parts of the dragon horn off the families from whence they were given, all of those years ago. You will understand if I withhold those names, of course, for your reputation does precede you, and I would hate to think that any harm would come to them."

Euron's breathing was shallower and faster. "Do you have these parts?"

Mopatis smiled, the chances of survival and keeping his bollocks rising by the second. I could understand that impulse and reaction. "I have all of the parts except for one in my forgery at the very edge of my land. If you promise to spare my life, I promise you safe pathway to the forgery through my Unsullied…I promise you the parts that I have…and I promise that you shall not be harmed in returning to your ship. Provided that you see me as an ally when you complete the weapon, of course."

I could sense Euron's anticipation, and the question left his lips as soon as the Magister had finished speaking himself. "And where is the one part that you do not have here?"

Mopatis hesitated, before staring at his hand and rubbing it in fear. "In my depository in the Iron Bank of _Braavos_ , of course."


	9. Hammer

_**"I still remember every face. You remember your first?"**_

 _ **"Of course, Your Grace."**_

 _ **"Who was it?"**_

 _ **"A Tyroshi. Never learned the name."**_

 _ **"Hmm. How did you do it?"**_

 _ **"Lance through the heart."**_

 _ **"Quick one. Lucky for you. Mine was some Tarly boy at the Battle of Summerhall. My horse took an arrow so I was on foot, slogging through the mud. He came running at me, the dumb high-born lad, thinking he could end the rebellion with a single swing of his sword. I knocked him down with the hammer. Gods, I was strong then. Caved in his breastplate. Probably shattered every rib he had. Stood over him, hammer in the air. Right before I brought it down he shouted, "Wait! Wait." They never tell you how they all shit themselves. They don't put that part in the songs. Stupid boy."**_

 **oOoOo**

Mopatis' armoury turned out to be the grandest that I had ever laid eyes upon. I guess that shouldn't have been a surprise, given I'd spent my entire 'career' in the services of Tobho Mott. As fantastic an armourer as he was, the facilities he had provided paled in comparison to those laid before me now. Dozens of slaves worked on either side of the large room as the Unsullied guards opened the large doors. The constant banging of hammers and sparks flying from the pounding of freshy forged swords echoed around the place, but the workers barely looked up. I noticed that some had chains around their legs, others appeared to be free workers. Mopatis caught my puzzled expression as he waved the Unsullied away, his throat mere inches from the sharp dagger Euron had held there since we had left the room at the top of the tower.

"The chains were never required before, my boy. Until recently, when word came across from Slavers Bay about the Mother of Dragons choosing to abolish slavery. It inspired revolution in some. You'll understand that I had to put measures in place to ensure that their dreams of freedom and individuality would remain that - dreams, unattainable dreams. Come, I will show you what I have so far."

Euron shuffled inside and motioned us to follow. Looking back at the dozen or so guards who had escorted us, I gave a sheepish grin and closed the large iron doors quickly, making sure to lock the damn thing behind me. I did not plan on dying today, on Euron's terms. If he wanted to make it back onto the ship alive, then so did I. Everything he had done up to this point had been carefully planned, to the point where I had a weird sense of confidence in him, that he would find a way for Wylla and myself to follow him on this quest away from this place and onwards to Braavos. What he hadn't planned on, clearly, were Unsullied guards already hidden inside the armoury.

Euron pushed Mopatis into the armoury, holding his dagger up in a threatening fashion, and motioned for him to continue alone. The Magister obliged, walking to the middle of the large room and motioning for the three slaves at the workstation to fall back as far as their reinforced chains would allow them. Euron pushed past me and his eyes fell on the black and shiny instrument that lay before him. This was clearly what he had come for. It was large, by my reckoning it would take the strength of a large man to carry it alone, and it curved up and down beautiful in an oriental shape. There were golden rings around it, each of them carrying strange words, from what I assumed must have been Old Valyrian. The gold patterns continued into pictures on the side, but it was also hard to distinguish what they were. Euron reached out to touch it, but Mopatis, emboldened suddenly, put his arm out to hold him back.

"Be careful, Greyjoy. It may still be hot to the touch. This is no ordinary horn, you know."

Euron pushed the Magister away and ran his hand over the smooth black surface. He did not recoil at the touch, though there was a slight sizzling sound and I could smell the odd aroma that could only have been burning flesh. When he tore his fingers away, I could see the deep burns singing his flesh, but he did not seem to mind. He looked at Mopatis, deep excitement in his eye. "Here sits the future of Westeros, Mopatis. Once I take it to Braavos and complete it, I shall take control of the three living dragons and burn their mother and her armies to dust. I shall fly them to the Iron Islands and destroy my brother. Then...Kings Landing...and those golden haired cunts that sit there on their fat asses. I just have one question."

"What is it?" Mopatis asked. Euron his his back turned to the man, and I noticed that Illyrio was beginning to slowly back away. Wylla, standing to my left, noticed this too, but before we could speak, Euron was at it again.

"What were you planning on doing with this horn? What allies do you have that would have helped you blow the horn, betray Daenerys and ensure the future of slavery?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Mopatis laughed slyly. "It does not concern you any longer."

"Look out!" I screamed out of instinct, and it came just in time. The Unsullied soldier, who had cleverly hidden himself behind a large anvil at the very end of the armoury, had sprung up as lithe as a cat and had propelled his spear right towards Euron. The pirate dodged just in time, the spear whizzing past his ear and through the workshop. Euron span in place, tearing out his dagger, and threw it right into the Unsullied's eye, whose head shot back with a spray of blood splashing against the wall behind him. Mopatis, hollering instructions, began to shuffle as quickly as he could towards the front of the shop, where the dozen or so Unsullied waited outside to come in and kill us all. I shaped to chase after him, but a weak voice rang out from my left.

"G...Gendry..."

In the chaos, I had not noticed the final destination of the errant spear from the now deceased Unsullied soldier. Wylla, now laying down in the dirt of the floor, had tears streaming down her face that mixed in with the deep pool of blood washing around on her chest. The spear had found its way into her guts and had embedded deep into her organs. She had already turned a fearfully pale colour and her tongue was rolling out of her mouth, as if now out of her control.

"Help...me..."

 _Not yet. I'm sorry, not yet._ All around the workshop, Unsullied troops were popping out of their hiding places and making their way towards Euron. I counted at least 4, but perhaps more joining them quickly. Unless I wanted this to turn into a bloodbath, with my own insides turning outside, I had to act quickly. Pushing past a slave, terrified out of his mind, I ran towards Mopatis and reached him just before he could reach the door. I tackled him from behind and he fell with a heavy thud, before I span him over and faced him directly, a trickle of blood leaving his nose. "What are you doing, you young fool? I know you are just a pawn for Euron...leave me be, and I shall..."

"We both know I'm dead as soon as those doors open," I shouted, ignoring the sounds of fighting going on in the background.

"I'm a noble man," Mopatis declared desperately. "A man of my word. You can..."

I punched him directly in the mouth, feeling the satisfying crunch of teeth and a spurt of blood gushing down the man's throat. His body went limp immediately underneath me and I recognised the slow, heavy breathing of an unconcious man. I slowly stood up, wiping the nervous sweat off my own forehead. "Fuck nobility."

 _Shit. Wylla._

If I had turned around a matter of seconds after I did, I would have been toast. Euron continued to fight two Unsullied with a forged sword he had grabbed, with three more bodies already laying around him. But what concerned me more was the Unsullied soldier standing over Wylla's weak form, staring back at me with those dead, cold eyes. His hand reached out and grabbed the spear sticking out of her chest, and I knew already what he was thinking. There was no way I could make it to him before he had thrown the spear directly into my heart, killing me on the spot. In a way, it was a relief. I had been in perilous situations before, almost tortured at killed by the Tickler, as an example; but never before had this sense of calm come over me. I felt ready. Apparently, somebody had other plans for me. The man tugged at the spear but it did not budge. He looked down in surprise to see Wylla, green hair quickly turning red on the ground as blood dripped down, had grabbed the shaft of the spear and was holding on for dear life. I had my moment.

I looked around for a weapon, anything, and something finally caught my gaze. A large hammer resting against the wall; not a hammer used in the forgery, but a larger and heavier version, as though a trainers warhammer that was being designed for the battlefield. I reached out and grabbed it; Gods, it was heavy. But in that moment, with Wylla holding on with all of her remaining strength, I felt as though I could have hurled it a mile. Holding it up high, my muscles straining with effort, I charged towards the man, now with his back turned, straining to get his weapon out of the poor girl on the floor. I reached him just as he span around. I swang the hammer with a roar, the head connecting perfectly with the man's chest. I found hear and feel the impact and the cracking of every single rib in his chest, his mouth exploding open as his lungs burst and all of the air left his body in one fatal moment. He did not even make a sound, but simply fell to the ground, dead before he hit, I suspect; a broken man, his chest no longer a healthy source of life but a broken collection of pieces that could never be put back together. I had a sudden yearning to vomit, but I held it in.

I was grabbed from behind and I moved to swing the hammer back at my new foe, but the steely gaze of the one blue eye met me and stopped me in my tracks. Euron, covered in Unsullied blood, held me close, his breath stale in the musty air. "Time to go, before the rest of these pricks make their way here."

He looked down at the Unsullied man, then back to me with an almost proud grin. "Keep the hammer, it suits you."

A groan from Mopatis stole Euron's attention and he made his way over to the Magister. Exactly what he did to him, I'll never know; I was too preoccupied with the girl at my feet. I leaned down and stroked her hair slowly, before looking into her eyes for one last time. They were open, and were ceasing to move; I looked over her delicate features and noticed that they were all the same. Wylla was dead. I crudely closed her eyes and laid her hands by her side, before changing my mind and placing them back on her mangled wound, her last true triumph which had almost certainly saved my life. I leaned in and kissed her cheek, ignoring the taste of copper blood which dominated her rosy flesh.

Had I expected to react with sadness and devastation, I was to surprise myself. I stood up, hammer in hand, and strode quickly towards the front of the shop, past Mopatis' bloodied body, where Euron stood listening to the Unsullied troops trying to bang the door in. Euron looked at my heaving chest, at the hammer in my hand, and he smiled again. "You loved her, no? You want a good fight to avenge her death?"

I ignored the first question, unsure even myself, but I nodded through furious eyes at the second. Euron grinned, rubbing his eye tirely, before strolling back to the scene of his victims and grabbing the horn with an audible groan. He walked back over to me, struggling with the weight of the thing, placing it down by my feet. "Heavy bastard. I wouldn't concern yourself with them, Gendry. Our help will be coming shortly."

It was as if he was a prophet. A few short minutes later, the Unsullied fell silent outside, and their pushes were replaced by the sounds of fighting and yelling. Euron threw the door open and rushed outside to join the frey. I watched on numbly as members of the Silence worked their way through the Unsullied troops, knifing them and clawing them to death as only pirates could in their disorganised but oddly systematic way. Euron, slicing the throat of the last remaining man, stood proudly and pointed back to the horn with glee. "Take the horn back to the ship, lads; before the rest of his cockless crew find us here. Best fighting men in the world my stinking asshole. They're not even fucking men."

Euron turned and began to make his way towards the shoreline. The horn was grabbed by Cragorn, with a typical snarl towards me, and a brief snigger as he glanced behind to see Wylla's body. I turned and walked to her, glancing down for one last time. I would have loved to have said she looked peaceful in death, but it would have been a lie. And the Unsullied? My first victim? His chest hung open like a God himself had reached down and torn him in two. That had been my doing. No matter what I did from that day forward, I would always be a killer. Swinging around, I left the forgery, grabbing my hammer on the way past. It felt right in my hands, as though designed for me specifically.

Try as I might, as the ship left the port, I could not get the vision of their faces out of my mind. I was starting to suspect that I never would. And, as we sailed away towards Braavos, Wylla's words rang true in my mind. _You're running away from something, I can tell. Well...so am I._

Maybe running away from the life she had never desired had gotten her killed. Maybe it would get me killed, too. But something was so sure in my mind, something so positive, that I could not doubt it, not even for a second. _I will escape this ship. I will kill you, Euron Greyjoy. I will make something out of the life I have remaining. It is in my blood, damn it. The Red Woman was right - there was power in King's blood, all right. There was definitely power in mine._


	10. Live

" _What are you going to do, you know, once you get off the ship?"_

 _Wylla glanced over at me from the bed, confused, as though I was speaking some foreign language that she couldn't understand. "What do you mean?"_

" _Don't tell me you're going to spend the rest of your days whoring yourself on this ship? There's got to be more to your life than that."_

 _The girl laughed, tossing back her green hair to reveal her perfect breasts. She didn't cover them half the time when I was sent down during raids, and it was clear that she knew how crazy that it made me. "Don't ask me questions that you can't answer yourself, Arry. An armorer's apprentice from Kings Landing, now an armourer on a pirate ship making two-bit weapons and swords from cheap steel? Surely you don't intend on doing that the rest of your life, too."_

 _I recoiled, my mind taken off those sumptuous breasts for a moment. "What exactly is wrong with what I do? It takes a lot of skill, you know. And patience. What people don't realise, is…"_

" _Have I offended you?" she laughed, mocking my red face. "How horrid of me. I should have known that a brute like you was only really hiding all of his feelings below the surface."_

 _I turned away, and she squealed in delight, bounding off the bed and slinking over towards me. I felt her skinny arms wrap around me, playing at my nipples, with her own pushing into my bed and swelling up noticeably. She leaned in to my ear, those soft lips whispering into them seductively._

" _You really want to know what I want to do when I leave this ship?"_

" _Yes. Tell me."_

" _Live."_

 **oOoOo**

It was dusk by the time we had made our way back to the ship, bobbing just off the coast behind a large sand-dune behind the armoury. I looked back at the fast-shrinking land to spot the horde of Unsullied approaching the armoury, spears raised. A strange echo murmured around the ship, as if the crew were laughing in unison, but the sound was more haunting than humorous. The smoke bellowed out of the openings at the top of the armoury, and I realized how they had managed to position themselves so perfectly in preparation for our obviously planned escape. _Obviously planned_. Euron had planned everything, from taking Wylla and myself ashore to gain access to Illyrio, to killing Illyrio in cold blood even after he had gained access to the horn. The bastard. Wylla was dead because of him. I felt a hot rage coursing through my veins, and I reached out to grab the hammer, which was feeling increasingly comfortable in my hands. I let the rage consume me, and it felt fantastic. I even managed to ignore the dozen or so pirates in my path who were slowly turning towards me as I screamed at the top of my lungs.

" **Euron!"**

The one-eyed cunt turned slowly, feigning surprise at the mention of his name. Without warning, two of his men came at me from either side. Unfortunately for them, I was expecting them. With speed that surprised even me, I swang the hammer to the right and collected the first man to the face, a collection of teeth flying through the air, the rest of the body flying through the air over the side of the ship, disappearing without even a scream. The second man, sword drawn, hesitated. Gods be good, a tongueless pirate who had probably killed twenty men and raped double that in women, was afraid of _me_! The hesitation cost him his life. Turning my whole body around with my bloody weapon, I struck the man such a blow to the upper chest that I heard the snapping of ribs, the blood gushing out his mouth an indication that they had impaled themselves on something serious. The man dropped, but before the rest could jump on me and slice me into a thousand ribbons, Euron raised his hand and walked forwards. He pulled out his own weapon, then dropped it to the deck. He continued to walk towards me, eye unblinking.

"Calm down, Gendry. Come. Drink with me."

He approached, hand out, smiling. But it wasn't his usual smile, filled with malice and evil intent. It almost seemed to be genuine. The hammer shook, and I tried to regain my strength. "Gendry, you are not going to strike down an unarmed man. Especially not when surrounded by his loyal crew. You are a smart boy, are you not? Now, do as I asked. Let's have a drink."

My eyes floated to the body by his feet, and he laughed. "Do not worry yourself. He is replaceable. Now, do not make me ask you a third time."

My knees suddenly felt very weak, and the hammer left my hands before I knew it. He nodded, and two of the pirates stepped forward. I felt a strong pang of satisfaction as I saw that the two struggled to lift it, and a third had to step forward to help. They clearly had never handed an instrument of its ilk before. Euron turned in place and walked below-decks, and I followed with some hesitation. He led me to the same black door that I had entered on my first night on the Silence, but this time a second chair greeted me on my side of the table. He sat, motioned for me to do the same, and reached for a large bottle of ale that sat proudly by his side.

"You did not enjoy the taste of shade of the evening, as I recall. Would some ale please you more?"

I shook my head, pursing my lips. "No. Give me some of your stuff. I don't want any fond memories of this night."

Those damn pale lips curled into a smile once again as he poured the vile stuff into a goblet and slid it across to me. I took a large swig, ignoring the taste, wiping my mouth clean as the man began his speech. "I want to tell you a story. I was only really a boy when I followed my father and brothers into King Robert's Rebellion. I wanted to join the fray sooner, but my damn conservative brother Balon told father to wait, wait…fool. Eventually, myself and my elder brother Victarion convinced father to seize the opportunity. We raided the Reach, won the Battle of Mander, but my father was claimed by the Drowned God before the battle was through. This meant power was handed to Balon, the cunt, and he took us all back to the Iron Islands, tails between our legs, before we could make our name renowned through all the lands. But even then, with all the hatred I hold towards my brother and the pain of losing my father…do you know what my main regret was?"

I shook my head, oddly captivated by the ramblings of this madman. Westeros history had never been a strength of mine, but since learning of my true heritage, I had begun to suspect that doing so would not be the worst idea in the world. "I have no idea."

"My main regret was never getting to see the usurper Robert Baratheon in the flesh on the battlefield. Gods, some of the stories I had been told. Early in the rebellion, while taking Gulltown, they say that he hit Marq Grafton's temple so hard with his warhammer that the man's skull exploded into sixty pieces. Sixty pieces! Could you even imagine. That was just one I heard. Believe me, there were dozens. I came away from the battle loving my father, missing him sorely…but not wanting to be him. You know who I wanted to be? Robert fucking Baratheon, swinging his hammer like a madman, killing cunts left, right and center…"

An elongated sip of his nectar, a satisfied smack of the lips, and the eye narrowed as he looked at me hungrily. "…and now, I have his bastard son sitting in front of me."

I dropped my cup, which fell to the floor, splashing the repugnant liquid all over the floor. I stammered an apology, falling to my knees to find the cup, but Euron simply laughed and banged his hand into the table. "Fuck sakes, Gendry, remind me never to invite you to a card game. Though perhaps I should, I would take all of your gold in the space of a few hands."

I sat back up, shocked. He ignored this and continued. "This would make you Gendry Waters, if memory serves me correctly. I know all about bastards, son; I've left litters of my own all around the Seven Kingdoms."

"If you knew who I was, why didn't you say anything? If you're trying to ransom me, I can tell you know, nobody is going to pay anything for me. I'm utterly worthless."

"That's where we disagree," Euron mused. "And I didn't know who you were before I saw you swing that hammer, both in the armoury and up on deck. No man in history has ever swung a hammer like that. Well, apart from the late King Robert, of course. The bastard of Robert Baratheon…worthless? Don't be a fool. Answer me this, Gendry Waters - how do you think the Dragon Bitch will react when she hears of another Baratheon alive and well when she destroys Stannis, then wipes the ashes of those golden-haired imposters off the Iron Throne?"

 _Me? A threat to the Iron Throne? Gods, just like when they stuck Lommy. Not this again._ "Like I said, I have no power. I am no threat. I have no role to play in whoever sits on that damn chair. I don't bloody want to, anyway!"

Euron belched, throwing the empty cup away with a smirk. "The Baratheon name used to command fear and respect. In the right hands, it can again. I may be mad, Gendry, but I am no idiot. Once I take the Iron Throne, I will need support. Am I to rely on a Small Council of mutes and dragons to do my bidding and ensure that I don't end up like your father? Stannis will never support my claim, even with three dragons to contend with. The stubborn idiot."

My mind cast back to Dragonstone, and I couldn't help but chuckle. His description of Stannis was highly accurate. "Support my cause, help me rebuild the dragon horn, help me destroy the Targaryen pretender and steal her dragons, help me take Kings Landing…then I shall legitimize you. Gendry Waters can, and will, become Gendry Baratheon. You can inherit all that your name comes with, and your strength can become mine. And mine yours, of course. I can make you more powerful than you could ever imagine. Do you agree?"

I failed to answer, and Euron took a swig from the jug itself. "The other option is to help me rebuild the horn and then get killed in your sleep, so I know that you'll agree. Excellent. Now that we have dealt with that, why don't you say what you wanted to scream at me before?"

"You got Wylla killed."

"The Unsullied that drove the spear into the girl got her killed," Euron corrected me, scratching at his eyepatch. "I needed her to help those damn Unsullied consider that I may have been offering her to Illyrio as either a gift or a worker. He had quite the appetite, especially for exotic beauties, by all accounts. I can't imagine he had ever dived into green pussy hair before."

I shaped to jump up and smack the man silly, but he raised his hand and I faltered. "I had not expected the Unsullied to be hidden away in the forgery. For that, I apologise. I had intended on all three of us returning to the ship safely. For that, you can only have my word. You can choose to believe me or not, I don't care. Though it does intrigue me…from what I gathered, you had only known her for a short time. How was it that you grew to care about her fate so? Don't tell me – there is another, somewhere else in this world, whom you truly miss more than dear, dead Wylla?"

 _Arya._

Euron stood and made his way towards the door, leaving me sitting numbly, unable to process the wealth of information entering my mind from the meeting. The pirate captain opened the door roughly, leaning back to smile at my huddled form. "I've got to take a piss. Pour me another, will you? Oh, and Gendry?"

"…yes?"

"Wylla told me who you really were a few days ago, you fucking idiot. Why did you think I really wanted you to watch my back today?"


End file.
